


What Really Matters

by acrownofwinterroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Community: lucissa, Fluff, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26326792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrownofwinterroses/pseuds/acrownofwinterroses
Summary: When Lucius Malfoy recieves the Dark Mark, his parents are horrified to discover that he is a Death Eater. Terrified that he might be killed by Lord Voldemort or an Auror before he produces an heir, they push him to choose a wife. From a selection of eligible women, Lucius pursues Narcissa Black, not expecting much to happen. To their surprise, they quickly strike up a connection and deep feelings begin to develop. But he hasn't told her he's a Death eater, and about the terrible things he does. The closer they become, the more it seems like she would hate the idea. But if he has to choose, there is no leaving Lord Voldemort's army. As Narcissa begins to suspect that he is hiding something, she battles confusion about her own desires, her family's expectations, her past, and what her beliefs truly are.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Kudos: 17





	1. the burning mark

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings: mentions of food, blood and gore
> 
> i really hope you enjoy! :) please leave a comment, i really want to know what people think! (also i suck at summaries sorry)

The dawn had barely broken when he awoke. He leaned and stretched, his long limbs untangling from the crisp bedsheets. The heavy velvet curtains slowly trundled open of their own accord, as they did every morning, small plumes of dust rising from the surface. Early morning sunlight shone through the window, pale purples and rosy reds, insipid pinks and soft yellows, as if some gods were painting in watercolours, using his world as a canvas. 

He lay back in the bed, feeling his tangled hair tickling his face. This was his favourite part of the day, of life really. This serenity that he savoured every morning before he had to get up and be  _ him _ , this morning sun a true, natural light, washing over him, cleansing of the previous night’s actions, and those that were to come in the new day. 

And today, especially, there would be many sins. 

Not sins, Lucius Malfoy said to himself, in that voice of reason that soothed him on those rare occasions doubt crept into his mind. It spoke up less and less often these days, though. At the start he had needed to hear it almost every time. 

They weren’t sins. It was duty, it was necessary, it was battle, and sometimes it was just a bit of fun. 

And for people like him, fun could be so scarce. 

But the light was growing brighter. The day had begun. 

\--------------------------------------

“Where are you off to so quickly?” Abraxas’ voice had the slightest hint of accusation in it, that didn’t completely manage to hide behind his forced laugh. His father had never been very good at casual laughter. 

“Yes, darling, what could possibly have you rushing out of the house this early?” His mother’s smile was bright and painted and false, one he had seen her force her features into so many times before. Her green eyes were as piercing as sharpened steel. 

Leonora and Abraxas Malfoy lived according to a set schedule. They woke up at the same time every day, they ate breakfast at the same time, went for a stroll in the vast gardens, had supper, and went to bed. They met certain friends on set days each week, and drank sometimes a little too much wine in the same glasses each day. 

He had never seen them up this early before. Yet here they were, dressed and done up, immaculate as always, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in their robes. Standing together, staring at him. 

“I … have stuff to do.” The toast crumbs were sticking in his throat. He hated lying to them like this, hated this feeling of fear, the nagging thought of their disappointment, their … heartbreak. But today was the last day he would hide the truth. After today, there was no hiding it from them. The prospect of telling the truth both excited and terrified him. He was sick of all this sneaking around, of hiding the glorious work he was participating in, yet their reaction… 

The image of his father’s face crumpling, his grey eyes swimming, floated unwelcome to the fore of his thoughts, but he pushed it away. He had become quite good at that too. 

“What kind of ‘stuff’?” Abraxas asked, slightly distastefully. Such casual language was discouraged amongst the elite. 

“Just with my friends, you know?” He swallowed the last of the toast, and dashed out the door, grabbing his precious racing broom as he went. He waved his fingers at them, as if to say,  _ I’ll be ok. I know what I’m doing.  _ But their wide eyes and anxious faces told him they would never believe him. 

\-----------------------------------

“Do you swear to obey every order given, from this day forth, no matter how difficult or distasteful, or disadvantageous to you?” 

“I swear.” His voice was clear and confident. Tingles rang through every nerve in his body. 

“Do you swear to stay loyal even in the face of death, and to ensure your fellow Death Eaters remain loyal, even if it means you must take the life of a close companion or one of your kin?” 

“I swear.” To his surprise and shame, he felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Finally, it was happening. This was all he had ever wanted. He blinked them back quickly. Another thing he had always been very good at. 

“Extend your arm and become my servant.” 

He peeled back the sleeve of his robe, his skin starkly pale against the black fabric. Pale, elongated fingers grasped his wrist, nails digging in, the grip harsh and unfeeling. But as he looked up, the Dark Lord’s thin lips curved upwards into the hint of a smile. His red eyes shone in the evening dusk. The first time Lucius had ever seen those eyes, shivers coursed through his whole body. Monsters and demons from long-ago forgotten childhood nightmares were once again brought to mind when he stared at the chalk-white flesh. Yet now it was glorious to look upon, the face of someone who had gone deeper into the field of dark magic than anyone before him. 

It frightened him slightly, though. He had resolved, that first day, clenching his fists to try and stop his hands from shaking, his fingernails leaving marks in his skin, to never go too far. He, heir to the Malfoy family name, could never look like that. His life as a death eater, and his life as Lucius Malfoy had to remain completely separated. And they would. He could manage it easily. 

Or so he told himself. 

The tip of the wand pressed onto his skin, hard and firm, so much pressure that he could feel the tip press his bones underneath his flesh. The low, gravelly voice began to murmur the incantation, the ancient Latin words running together in one long, low, mesmerising hiss. 

By Salazar, it was painful. 

He was being burned, flames as strong and as intense as the gates of hell, the stomach-turning odour of burning human flesh wafting past his nose, his entire arm in agony, gritting his teeth together so hard he felt as if he was grinding their tips into powder. It was as if a burning knife was being dragged along his skin, he wanted to scream, but he didn't. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the sulphur and flames, he wanted to gag, but he didn't.

It was pain as he had never felt pain before. Yet it was glorious. 

\----------------------------------------

The moon was high, and the flat grasses of the moor shone. He walked - it was too risky to apparate with such an injury, and he needed both arms to fly his broom. Besides he wanted to savour this moment. For the first time ever, he felt like he was more than just a surname. 

The cold night wind blew through his white-blond hair, so that it fanned around his head. Strands whipped around and tickled his face. Stars twinkled in the deep black sky, like diamonds scattered across shimmering silk. 

He gripped his handkerchief around his left forearm, blood soaking through the soft cotton and dripping through his fingers. 

\-------------------------------

The minute he stepped into the vast, shadowy hall, the heels of his shoes loud on the polished flagstones, he knew something had happened. Something had changed. 

“Mother? Father?” Oh, Merlin, had something happened to his father? Had the illness returned, a sudden relapse, had he-

“Lucius?” 

Thank Salazar. 

“Come in here.” 

Lucius took a deep breath, the musty scent of old tapestries and wax candles filling his lungs. It was now. He tucked his arm behind his back and clasped his hands together. 

In the drawing room, they were standing together. To his horror, he saw tears streaking the powder on his mother’s face. His father was as pale as porcelain, his jaw set like stone. 

“When were you going to tell us?” he said in constricted tones. Whether it was anger or grief that choked Abraxas’ words, his only son did not know. 

“Tell you what?” 

In answer, his mother threw, with vehement force such that it almost broke, a silver, skull-shaped mask embellished with intricate filigree, down onto the carpet, where it landed with a loud thud. The death eater mask he kept hidden in a slit in his mattress. 

“Tonight.”

She laughed bitterly. 

“Oh, of course you were.” 

“No, really,” he said, moving his arm from behind his back and pulling up his sodden sleeve. He winced, the blood had dried and stuck to his skin, and peeling back his sleeve was painful. 

In the flickering light from the chandelier, it looked grotesque. Crusted over in dark, brown drying blood, with fresh rivulets still dripping down his wrist, the shape was stark against his pale skin. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room. 

The mark. 

A snarling skull, with a thick black snake coiling out of its open jaw. The symbol that had pervaded his thoughts ever since he was a teenager. Finally, a part of him. 

For far too long a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the steady clicking of the old grandfather clock, which sounded as if it had been there since the house had been built. 

“This.. you…” 

“It’s an honour.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lucius!” Abraxas yelled, suddenly. His words echoed in the cathedral-like manor. “It’s a bloody prison, not an honour! Do you know what this means?” 

Lucius said nothing. 

“You’ve sold your soul to this freak! Do you know what he does to his followers who make even the tiniest mistake?? You put one toe out of line and he’ll kill you!” 

“I won’t -” 

“Son,” Abraxas strode over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were glistening. “You think you’re smart and savvy and talented. And you are. But you’re still only twenty-one-” 

Lucius wrenched out of his grasp. 

“You don’t know anything, do you? He’s going to give us the world we deserve! What we’ve always wanted! And I’ll be creating it with him! You’re just too cowardly and stupid to see it!”

“AND WHAT IF YOU DIE IN THE ATTEMPT?” 

“I’D BE HAPPY TO!” 

After that, there was silence. Silence broken by his mother’s loud, hoarse sob. 

“Just go to your room.”

“Father-” 

“GO UPSTAIRS! We’ll discuss this properly tomorrow. I’ll get some dittany for your arm.” 

“There’s nothing that works for it.”

As he walked upstairs, scuffing his polished leather boots on the marble steps, the eyes of dozens of portraits followed him. Whispers of long-dead voices surrounded him. Their looks of disgust and distaste burned into his mind. 

\----------------------------------

The dining hall was full of multicoloured light from the stained-glass windows, blues and reds and purples dappling the mahogany floorboards. As soon as he opened the door, they tensed up. They had been expecting him. His father’s plate was piled high with eggs, sausages and fried tomatoes, but he hadn’t touched any of it. Lucius pulled a stack of toast towards him and loaded it up with bacon and butter. 

“Son,” Abraxas said, in a voice slightly higher than usual. Although his father still couldn’t look him in the eye, it was a relief to hear him use what was, for them, an affectionate term. “Your mother and I were talking last night, and…” 

Leonora interrupted him. Patience had never been her strong suit. Strange, you would have thought it would be a virtue sought in a Mrs. Malfoy. 

“You need to get married. Now that you’re a death eater, there’s a high probability that someday you’ll walk out that door and the Aurors will send you back to us in a b-b-”

Her usually cold, sharp voice wavered. 

“A box. Like all the others. Gandel Greengrass, Roberta Flint. And if that happens, we need to have the succession secured. You need an heir. So you need to marry. Quickly.” 

Lucius' heart sank. They had someone picked out for him, probably. Someone they thought was suitable, who probably found the tamest of his dark experiments repulsive. He prayed that she was of age. The practice of fathers giving their daughters away at ridiculously young ages was still worryingly prevalent amongst pureblood circles. 

“Have..” He licked his lips. His throat was dry. “Have you picked someone?” 

“We thought we’d choose together.”

Leonora leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. 

“This isn’t a punishment, darling. We want you to marry someone you like, if possible.” she said, in soft tones.

A barely perceptible escaped his lips. He would have preferred someone he  _ loved _ , but at least they were taking his choices into account.

“We thought we’d make a list of all the suitable eligible young women, and then we can discuss.”

Abraxas pulled a scroll of parchment from his pocket and unfurled. 

“We got started last night. Sooo, there’s Celseta Zabini, Brennette Flint, Sabrina Greengrass-”

“Too young.” 

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. 

“Bellatrix Black-”

“By Salazar, not her, she’s crazy,” Leonora said. 

“She’s pureblood, and everyone says she’s incredibly good-looking,” Abraxas replied, irritatedly. 

"That's hardly all that matters," Lucius muttered. 

“My father always said pickiness was detrimental to securing a good engagement. Louisa Macmillan, Alecto Carrow, Delena Travers, Narcissa Black…” 

His father continued listing names, but Lucius’ mind had been ripped suddenly from the cavernous room filled with tension, away from the manor, the green hills and sloping valleys, back to his lazy days at Hogwarts. His first year as a prefect, when he had just started going to parties, trying his hand at drinking too much… 

A summer evening, the world smelling of cut grass and dusky florals. The common room is crowded, so a group of them have gone outside to breathe in the fresh summer air. No one is around, no one is watching. They start talking, him and the girl who’s a year below him, always pristine, always prepared and on time, who has a witty response for every occasion, who he can’t help staring at sometimes. The girl whose blue eyes shine like crystals, who always laughs at his jokes. She's laughing now, they're both laughing, his sides are splitting, her voice is so warm, her smile is so lovely... Then her hand is on her arm, and his are tangled in long, honey-gold hair, and their lips are together and world seems to have stopped, and fireworks are going off inside his skull-

That girl, who still seems to sparkle years later, whose smile still catches his eye sometimes, whose honey-gold hair is longer than ever, whose witty remarks are more sophisticated and waspish every year. If he has to find someone quickly, someone from this wretched list, then...

“Did you say Narcissa Black?” 

  
  



	2. small talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius sets his plan into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read and left kudos on chapter one! I really hope you enjoy this chapter, please leave a comment and tell me what you think :) ( also I'm really sorry for the terrible summaries, they've never been my strength!)

The book was heavy in her hands, the print small and cramped together. The binding was almost falling apart, the the old leather faded and crumpling. A musty scent emanated from it, of old libraries and crumpled parchments. It was her favourite smell in the world. 

She traced the symbols with a thin finger, the delicate swirls and dashes painstakingly etched in fading ink. She was beginning to be able to recognise them more quickly. She was making great progress, she knew.   
Progress her parents wanted to undo entirely. 

She crossed and uncrossed her legs, and sighed. Arithmancy had been a passion of hers ever since she was a teenager, searching desperately for something to distract her from well, everything…

Rigorous study, blood sweat, tears, and many a pleading speech made at her parents had brought her here, holding this book. She eyed the parchment uneasily. The essay was due that evening, and she was really struggling. Ugh. Post - school academies for outstandingly talented magical pupils were supposed to be fun. 

She picked up the quill and ran her fingers over the soft tendrils of the feather, the wheels in her mind turning…

“Miss Cissy?” 

She jerked, spilling ink everywhere, all over the parchment, hours of careful work. The house elves always knocked, unless there was an emergency. A whine began in her head. 

“Is everything all right? Is it Bella? Has she been arrested??? What’s happened?!”

“No! No! Oh, no, Miss Bella is fine. Everything is fine, it’s … Lucius Malfoy is here to see you.” 

“Lucius Malfoy? What?” 

“He’s here to see you.”

“Why?” 

“Narcissa?” 

The clear, harsh voice of her mother cut across the room. The door was flung open. 

“What are you doing?” She hissed. “Get down there!”

“What does he want with me?” Narcissa replied, confused.

“He wants to go for a walk with you! Get. downstairs. Quickly!” 

“I have to finish this essay! Tell him I’m very sorry, and er, flattered,” she said, uncertainly, “but I can’t go today.” 

Druella ripped the parchment from her hands with such force that Narcissa was afraid it would tear. 

“Are you an idiot, Narcissa? Why do you think he’s here?? He doesn’t just fancy some air with a girl he barely talks to- he’s interested in you!! So you will get down there and make the most of the first piece of good luck this family has had in a decade!”

She fixed her youngest daughter with deathly glare, the kind that made Narcissa feel as if rivers of ice were coursing through her veins. She had been testing the boundaries these past few years, but she didn’t dare quite protest when her mother had that look in her eyes. 

He was in the drawing room, talking in polite tones with one of the portraits, his hands clasped in his lap. He was twisting them nervously, she saw. She nodded shyly to him. He was handsomer than she remembered. His white-blonde hair ran in ripples down his back, framing his broad shoulders. His robes were a plain dark green, with intricate gold embroidery at the cuffs, expertly tailored. He cut a fine figure in them, tall and imposing. Without thinking, she moved a hand nervously over her hair, tucking a loose strand back in place.

Suddenly she felt more self-conscious than she had ever had in life. Her dress was excruciatingly plain, her hair simple, her makeup rushed ... and catching a glimpse of herself in the ornate mirror above the fireplace, she saw that her pale skin was flushed pink. 

Once outside, he turned towards her, and offered her his arm, clad in green velvet. He gave her the cursory polite smile, which flickered slightly, a murmur of awkwardness. She raised her hand, her rings glinting in the pale sunlight, and slipped it through. It was odd… she had been linking arms with men her entire life, going to and from parties and dancefloors, as was the custom, but she had never been more, well… aware? of the sensation, her fingers resting on the supple fabric, the feeling of his arm beneath, unsure whether she should clutch him or let her fingers rest, unsure where she should position them. If she moved them around too much, it would be awkward-

Her worries were interrupted by his clear cold voice, loud in the still morning. Merlin, when did it get so deep? 

“So, um… how are you?” 

“I’m - I’m well.” 

“Good.” 

Gravel crunched underneath their feet. A bird sang the same melody it had been singing all morning. 

“So, er…” 

“Um…” 

“So,” he said, “I hear you’re doing one of those post-schooling academies?”

“Er, yes,” she replied, feeling anxiety well inside her. She had never met a pureblood man who entirely approved of the concept of her extra studies before. 

“Those courses are really hard to get into!” 

“Well, I, you know, worked hard, and prepared myself and-” 

“You’re talented though,” he said, with true admiration in his voice. “We were in duelling club, together, remember?” 

“Of course I remember.” She remembered very well. She remembered everything about their encounters at Hogwarts.

“Yeah, but you were definitely the best there.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she had even started speaking. 

“I get that you might not have been exactly transparent about it, but any fool could tell that you have incredible talent.”

He turned to her, and smiled shyly, the faintest hint of a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. Narcissa felt flames creeping up her cheeks, her pale skin glowing crimson. Was it the sincere compliment, something she was rather unfamiliar with, or his grey, smoky eyes staring earnestly into hers? Oh, Merlin, her hands were sweaty, could he tell?

The cool winter morning suddenly seemed unbearably hot. She thought of the duelling club, which was always rather hot, so many people packed into one small room. It was wonderful, though. The room was poorly lit, weak light from a few tiny lanterns always struggling to penetrate the darkness that always flooded ancient, crumbling castles. The flashes of light as sweaty teenagers flung their power at each other with wild, slashing movements, faces screwed up in concentration, teeth gritted, looked like fireworks in the near-darkness. Narcissa remembered one of the few occasions she had ever seen anyone beat Lucius Malfoy in a duel. His opponent had disarmed him in a humiliatingly easy fashion. She had murmured some little witty comment to the person beside her, who burst into racous laughter. Both competitors turned to see who it was, and that was when she seemed to lock eyes with Lucius Malfoy. Even after the laughter died down, he was still glancing at her, and she would look back, feeling rather light-headed... he was staring at her when a stunning spell caught him unawares and he was thrown across the room, too preooccupied with, well, her to block it. Narcissa had never told anyone about that day.

“I don’t think that’s exactly fair,” she said, giggling. “I mean, I’m not that talented, and I’m pretty good at hiding it…” 

“Well, you’re pretty good at being modest.” He smiled shyly at her, and she returned it, feeling her face go crimson again. For a moment, they only smiled awkwardly, and until she started giggling again, and soon they were both laughing. 

After that, the conversation flowed. She had never met someone she could talk to like this, someone who seemed so on the same page, so interested in what she had to say. He was wonderful as well, coming out with hilarious jokes and stories of his own. They laughed until their sides hurt, Narcissa clutching his arm tight to keep herself upright, without even realising she was doing it. She only did when he placed his hand on top of hers to help steady herself, and the world seemed to stop for a moment. She could feel hers tingling, as if every nerve in it had suddenly become ten times as sensitive. As if the air around them was full of electricity. 

They eventually found a bench, and with slight regret, she let go of his arm. There they sat, talking, laughing, exchanging jokes and anecdotes. Around them the sun sank, and the sky hung a cloak of colour over the drab country landscape, shining rose and crimson and deep orange over the muted greens and greys. And every now and then, they would inch a little closer to each other, barely even registering that it was happening. It happened naturally, as if there were magnets inside them, the forces of nature pulling them together. 

She leaned back, her head resting against the hard stone bench, and gave a contented sigh. Looking up, she saw the stars twinkling, so many of them, the sky a vast expanse above them, the names of her family, her ancestors, gleaming in their intricate constellations, constant and never-ending. 

Wait. Stars. It was night. NIGHT. Shit. 

“Oh, Salazar, it must be terribly late,” she cried, her voice high, leaping up from the bench. She clutched her hands together so tight it hurt, trying to stop them from shaking, Her legs felt like jelly. Her parents were going to kill her. 

From what seemed like half the world away, she heard Lucius gasp loudly and jump to his feet. 

“Oh, I’m so so sorry, Narcissa, oh lord-”

“It’s fine,” she said, hurriedly, already starting down the path. 

They sprinted all the way home, the wind whipping strands of her pale hair into her face. When they reached the gate of her family home her chest heaving, her breath coming in gasps, she felt him touch her arm lightly. 

“I’m so sorry again.” 

“Don’t be. We both let time run away with us.”

“It was worth it, though,” he said, grinning sheepishly, his grey eyes sparkling again. 

For a moment, with the stars shining above them, the child wind have died to a cool breeze, playing with her hair, for the briefest moment, Narcissa thought he was leaning in to kiss her…

He took her hand in his, and gave it a warm squeeze. Then he walked briskly down the path. Narcissa opened the gate and made her way to the door, trembling again, and opened it, the creaking of the ancient hinges unbearably loud in the otherwise silent night, making her wince.


	3. Nicknames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An impromptu Death Eater meeting leads Lucius to an unpleasant discovery about Narcissa

“Oi. Oi. OI!” 

Lucius turned over and mumbled sleepily into his silk pillowcase. 

“Ah, piss off.” 

“No, wake up!”

“Go ‘way.” 

“LUCIUS!” Nocus Crabbe hissed, and Lucius recoiled at the extremely unpleasant sensation of a glassful of freezing cold water hitting him in the face. 

“You prick!” He leapt to his feet furiously, water trickling down his back. 

“I told you to wake up!” 

“Why the fuck are you even here?!”

“Emergency meeting!” 

Nocus had an coarse, gravelly Cockney accent, but over the years spent around his aristocratically mannered friends, it had become more refined, so it was now a jarring hybrid of the snooty tones of the upper class and the down-to-earth dialect of his father. Crabbe took snobbish insults about this in good humour, which was one of the main reasons that they had managed to maintain their friendship, Lucius often mused. 

“If there had been a meeting, my mark would’ve burned.” He said, in a smug tone. Nocus had yet to receive his own mark, an extremely sore point. His passion for the dark arts did quite yet line up with his skill and self-discipline. 

“Oh, did you get your mark? Funny, you never mentioned it before.” He replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “This isn’t an official meeting, idiot, so climb off the high hippogriff and get out of bed. Bella needs to talk to us. Something went wrong with the plan.”

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake,” Lucius groaned. “Can you idiots do anything by yourselves without having to get someone else to hold your hand the whole way through?? I mean, seriously.”

“Oh, because you’re so perfect.”

“I may not be perfect, but I’m not incompetent either.” 

“Just throw your fucking robes on and get down to the Blacks’.” 

“How the hell did you get in my room anyway?” 

“House elf let me in.” 

He ripped the curtains over. Lucius let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a hiss as the bright light flooded his vision. 

“You have five minutes to get ready, or I’m gonna drag you down there half-dressed if I have to.”

Lucius scowled, but hopped out of bed quickly. He shivered. Large, ancient and made of crumbling old stone, Malfoy Manor was always drafty. He washed quickly, savouring the feeling of the cold water soaking into his skin. The shock always brought him out of the entanglement of thoughts constantly spinning in his brain. He dressed simply, a plain black shirt and grey trousers under his robes, and a warm cloak. 

“Happy?” he said, walking into the corridor where Nocus had taken the liberty of sprawling himself on one of the fading chaise lounges. Lucius had never quite understood why they were there, given that nobody ever used them. 

“I’m always happy to see ya, Rick.” Nocus responded, jokingly. 

“Rick” was the nickname that his closest friends called him. At Hogwarts, when on the quidditch team, he had developed a reputation for scoring three goals in a row, and was subsequently dubbed “Hattrick Malfoy” (Hattrick meaning three goals in a row.) Soon, people began shortening it to just “Hattrick” which then became simply “Rick.” Lucius pretended that it annoyed him - stupid nicknames were not suitable for the heir to the Malfoy legacy - but really, it made him feel normal, detached from the constant pressure of his life. Rick was the name of someone who could do whatever he liked without worrying about it being frowned upon or unbecoming, who didn’t have to try to hide every relationship he’d been in to escape the attention of the press, whose parents didn’t sigh loudly at the jet-black mark on his arm. He liked being Rick. 

“Let’s get a move on, then.” 

“Right you are.” 

Outside, the cold air stung their cheeks, and Nocus’ squashed nose turned bright red. The massive oak trees surrounding the house shook in the wind, sending an ominous sound rolling over the countryside. 

“So tell me about this salacious late night walk with whatshername.”

“Whatshername? Seriously?”

“Bella’s sister that’s not Andromeda.” 

“You seriously don’t know her name?”

“Why would I? I have a tiny brain, as you lot constantly remind me. There’s no room in there for random girls I barely know.”

“Her name is Narcissa.” 

Narcissa. He liked saying her name. 

“Whatever. What did you get up to?”

“We talked. 

“Oh, please.”

“Seriously! I know you’ve never had an intelligent conversation in your life, but if you did you’d find they can be quite time consuming.”

“Mate. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

“I’ve told you about every time-”

“Yeah, well I’ve never asked you to!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Would I really do it with someone I barely know late at night in the freezing cold in January?”

Nocus sighed theatrically. 

“I suppose you’re right. So did you kiss, yeah?”

“No-”

“SERIOUSLY?”

“It was the first-”

“You’re so pathetic.”

“And your mind is in the gutter.”

“Yeah, but my-”

“ALRIGHT, let’s change the subject!”

****************

“Excited for this party tonight?” Evan Rosier asked cheerfully. 

Everything about Evan was cheerful. Lucius had no idea how he could stomach being a Death Eater. He was the last person in the world you would expect to be involved in dark magic. Before he took over as head of the family, he was forever being reprimanded by his father for donating too much money to worthy causes, with no ulterior motive. Evan volunteered at St. Mungo’s on weekdays. He was Narcissa’s cousin - they were the same age,and they got on splendidly - probably because she was one of the few people who didn’t tease or chastise him for his generous nature. 

“Er, yeah,” he replied absent-mindedly. The party was one of those ball-type occasions that happened around this time of year, mostly to help the younger generation of purebloods to help mingle and find partners. Lucius usually liked them a lot - he liked making connections with powerful people, he liked displays of pureblood wealth and prestige, and he wasn’t the worst dancer. But for this one, he could feel a sense of … apprehension. For the first time in his life, maybe, he was nervous for a social occasion. Nervous, and excited. His stomach did backflips and his head felt light. Narcissa would be there. He wanted to dance with her, to talk to her, but for some reason, there was a pressing, irrational fear whining in his head that his voice would disappear and he’d forget all of the dance steps he’d known since he was five. 

“Well, anyway, we should clear up, before Narcissa sees,” Eavn said, gesturing to the grotesque ingredients littering the table they were working at. Bellatrix had never been the best potioneer,and she always ended up screwing up and needing their help. 

“Before Narcissa what?” 

“Sees all this.”

“Why can’t she see it?”

“Well, I mean, she’s not the biggest fan of Dark Magic. She and Bella are always having arguments about it. I remember when I first joined the movement, she practically begged me not to, she was so upset.”

Lucius smiled weakly, but inwardly he was cursing himself with every unsavoury word he knew. The glittering fantasy of tonight that he had built in his head, the feel of her silken gloves in his hand, the sparkling in her cerulean eyes, the quiet gardens with trickling fountains and lusicus roses, where he might take a word of advice from Crabbe and kiss her…

It was slipping away now, like sand in an hourglass, like the tiny window of time his parents had given him to make the most important decision of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry I took so long to post this latest chapter! Thanks so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought! Thanks so much to everyone who left kudos, it means so much to me :)


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